The comment is typical Micah, and I make a sound in the back of my throat—part laugh, part relief. He wraps me in one of his hugs, and tears prick at my eyes—and not because of the pregnancy hormones. He’s warm and he smells nice, and I’m just so damn glad he’s here.

He cranes his head back to look at me. “How you holding up?”

I shake my head, pressing my face into his chest. “Paul’s on a run.”

By now Micah knows me well enough to hear all the words I’m not saying. That my husband’s not here at the worst possible time, that he doesn’t know what happened because he never takes his dang phone, that I could use a little emotional support. He holds me for longer than he has to, waiting for me to be the one to untangle us.

When I do, he digs out his phone, pulling up the number for his father on his screen. “Hey, you think you could get some of your guys to sweep the roads around Nantahala Peak for Paul? He’s gonna need some advance warning before coming home to a crime scene.”

I smile a silent thank-you. Micah’s father is police chief—the only cop in the station from this side of the hill. Both men know that a house full of cops would trigger old trauma in Paul.

Micah’s conversation with his father turns testy, a regular occurrence whenever those two talk. Never mind that Micah is the best underwater criminal investigator in hundreds of miles, he’ll never be good enough for Chief Hunt, who, from the sounds of things, would rather wait for a team of divers he’s called in from Asheville to move the body. Micah turns up the heat, arguing he’s already here, standing by in his wet suit, and I flash a grin at his little white lie. Another reason why I like Micah Hunt; his daddy issues are even worse than mine.

He hangs up, tossing his phone onto the counter. “You know, I’m really starting to wonder if he’s been paying any attention at all. He just told me to send him my qualifications.”

I laugh, because Chief Hunt only need consult a newspaper. Weighted-down bodies, weapons flung from a bridge, some rusty hunk of metal that solves a forty-year-old crime. If it’s down there, Micah has dredged it up and held it up for some camera. He’s semifamous, and not just in these hills. Last year, USA TODAY ran a front-page feature on Lake Hunters for their Life section.

I hand him his coffee, and he sinks with it onto a counter stool. “So, you want to fill me in on what happened?”

“Okay. Well, when I got up this morning, I realized I left a couple of things down in the boat, so—”

“What time was that?”